Eleven
by WritingRamblingRavenclaw
Summary: Every now and then, you meet someone spectacular. You'll remember them all your life, even if they aren't always around, even if you never see them but once. Sometimes once is enough. Enough to change your life... enough to fall in love. JL [oneshot]


**Disclaimer: i do not own harry potter... tear, tear...**

She was eleven when it happened. She hated being eleven, for in her opinion it was a terrible age to be. She was stuck in an odd, uncomfortable position, caught between the outgrown security blanket of worn Cabbage Patch dolls and the thrilling mystery of dances and eye-shadow.

She fancied herself an interesting person, but more often felt invisible. She didn't talk much- she was introverted, usually immersed in a novel, whether it was the one she was reading or the one she was writing. When there wasn't a pen or a book in her reach, she'd simply daydream, loosing herself to a far-fetched romantic fantasy. She was forever making up stories in her head. This lived in a make-believe world, constantly wishing herself into the books she loved best. She had been Cathy Linton on her bed, confessing her love for Heathcliff, Elizabeth Bennett refusing Mr. Darcy's marriage proposal, Daisy Buchanan breaking the heart of James Gatsby. She'd had a very interesting life in her fantasy land.

She was very bright but had never been very interested in schoolwork. She easily maintained an honor roll report card, earning her a reputation as a 'smart kid', but she'd never studied a day in her life. This was before Hogwarts. When she found out that she was a witch, she was thrilled- finally, something amazing had happened to her, and it wasn't imaginary! She loved her classes, each and every one of them, and she was really, truly learning. The only exception was Defense Against the Dark Arts.

This wasn't because she wasn't interested in learning to defend herself- actually, it was quite the opposite. However, her professor was an older, absent-minded woman, who frequently passed out worksheets before going out to the forest for a cigarette. The worksheets were very rarely checked by the teacher. Instead, the students were free to do whatever they pleased.

Most of the girls in the class sat in a circle of desks pushed together carelessly, chatting animatedly about the cutest boys and the newest line of ornamental dress robes offered by Madame Malkin's. Boys chased each other around the room, yelling and insulting the others. Only two resisted this pattern. There was the girl, who sat and read, and the boy, who watched her.

_Stalking, _his best friend would call it, shaking his head, _You are _stalking _that girl…I don't understand you, dude, she's not even that good-looking…_

Stalking was a strong word, he thought. It wasn't as if he was following her around or anything. He only watched for that one hour, and it was only because she was interesting. She had the most unbelievable concentration.

Everyday, she sat down in her desk, right next to his, and everyday she took out a book. Some days it was a novel, usually something romantic. Other days, it was a smaller book, more like a journal, really, and it was accompanied by a pen. Either way, she would sit in complete silence, making no noises except for pages turning and her pen hitting the page. Her long red hair would fall into her face, but she didn't seem to mind. She was caught up in another world.

"Book Land," her older sister would say as she watched her read at home with complete and utter concentration, ignoring any attempts at conversation, "she's in Book Land."

When she was in this 'Book Land', it was literally as if she was inside the book. She would smile, or softly laugh. Once or twice the boy swore he saw her wiping tears out of her eyes.

One time she caught him doing it. She was simply reading, calm and still, when she started to feel the heat of eyes resting on her intently. After a few moments, she whirled around to face him, and for a moment they studied each other.

Both suffered from the typical physical side-effects of being eleven. He was small and scrawny, with pale skin and a skinny face. He also had a messy shock of thick black hair that stood up all over his head in bizarre angles and twists, as if he had just climbed off of a broomstick, when she knew that he hadn't. His mouth was open, as if to offer an explanation, but one didn't come.

Her own mouth was curved into an amused smile at his funny expression, her emerald eyes twinkling. She was also very small, and was the sort of girl who looked as though she would be very pretty once she grew into her own features. Her flaming red hair was beautiful, though, long and smooth and wavy.

"What are you looking at?" he mumbled, looking away from her to examine the rainbow-flecked carpet.

She rolled her eyes irritably, her smile disappearing. _What a typical boy, _she thought pityingly. "You were _staring _at me." She said slowly.

"No, I wasn't." he dismissed her without tearing his eyes away from the carpet.

She looked at him incredulously, "I _saw _you."

"I wasn't staring at you!" he cried, attracting several odd looks and snorts from the rest of the class. He looked up at her, finally. "I wasn't."

"Okay…" she said slowly, "so, you were simply gazing intently in my direction for the past…" she checked her watch, "twenty-three minutes and fourteen seconds, almost as if you were in some sort of daze, but you were _not _staring at me." She smirked at him, but he shook his head stubbornly.

"All righty, then," she sighed, unconvincingly, as she returned to her book.

"Okay, so maybe I was," he admitted quietly.

"I know." She sang, her face buried in _Pride and Prejudice. _

"You're awfully hard to lie to," he remarked as she continued to look into her book.

"Good to know," she replied.

"Awfully easy to look at though." he said, and she heard him, whether he meant for her to or not. Either way, that was the beginning. Of what, neither of them could possibly know, but as she tried to return to her novel, she found it impossible. Perhaps reading it three times was enough for this week.


End file.
